Page 105 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

There is only one thing left to do—I have to enter her subconscious. Despite being in a purely immaterial realm, I feel the effort physically as I walk through an entirely dark void of nothingness.

I find myself in a maze. It’s a forest, much uglier than the mastick, meaning it must be the septic. Which means Lusia was right. I wonder not for the first time, how did she know Desdemona was septic yet not know her name?

But I have a much more daunting task to focus on. The forest is on fire. This is how her subconscious has chosen to protect itself—which means her subconscious knows how difficult it is to make it through a forest that is on fire. I, myself, do not. I’m used to snow and ice, the wind and the bitter cold.

Even though my body is not in this realm, I feel the beads of sweat forming below my shirt.

Seeing as I cannot wield shadows here, I have to rely on my instincts. I run to the left, through the small path that has not been set ablaze yet.

From here I climb, not a great move, and yet the only one I can think of, the only way to find a path through the maze. The forest goes on forever, in every direction. There are no mountains, no bodies of water, nothing else but a patch of black in the middle. It is my only option.

The fire is closing in on the tree, and I have no choice but to jump. Running on my newly sprained ankle is certainly a nuisance, and in the midst of this pain, there is only little relief to be found in the fact that my real body lies perfectly preserved on Visnatus.

I turn to my left and quickly to my right, only for my path to be blocked by fire. The fire comes dangerously close to my shoulders as I make it back to my starting point.

I trip, falling to the floor, the leaves beneath me hot enough to burn.

I get to my feet to see that I tripped over a body.

I run. Turning left and right and left again. I find a building, though building is a generous way to describe it. It’s more of a dilapidated hut.

And it certainly wasn’t here when I looked down from the tree.

Perhaps Desdemona is trying to help me reach her. I open the door, and I find a small child with long, orange hair and a woman. A younger and less haggard looking Isa.

“What happened to my eyes?” Desdemona’s little voice is as short as she is.

Isa visibly recoils. “What, sweetie?”

“My eyes.” She taps at the bone below her eye twice.

The woman opens her mouth as though she’s going to talk, and a heavy sigh comes out. “Shit,” she mumbles and grabs the pendant at her chest.

“Wait,” Desdemona beckons, and her head turns to the side. “Every time you do that, something funny happens.”

“Do what, sweetie?”

Desdemona taps her chest twice.

“Gods damnit!” Isa shouts and tugs at her hair. This time it’s Desdemona who recoils. Isa takes the necklace off and stares at it, shaking her head. “Fucking Willow.”

“Mommy?”

Willow.

Isa puts the pendent in Desdemona’s hand and says, “Close your eyes and just… feel.”

Little Desdemona’s hands glow orange. Then she looks at me, and in a voice more akin to the one she carries now, the little girl goes, “Get out of my head!”

I stumble out of the hut. There is only one path that is not covered in flames, and I take it. My shirt catches fire as I run and it burns its way through to my skin. I rip it off as I turn and finally get a brief vision.

If I keep going straight, there will be a fork to my right that leads to the patch of nothing. This is what I do.

The forest has gone from view when I step into the darkness.

Everything has gone from view. This is absolute nothingness; dark, empty, lonely, except for Desdemona. She sits in the middle. Her hair looks more akin to fire—the only beacon of light. Her legs are tucked up against her chest, and her forehead rests on her knees.

I would never be able to pick up this picture with a brush.

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